


A Bird in the Hand

by DrScout



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Explicit Language, Mild Gore, No Porn, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrScout/pseuds/DrScout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were too many, and they were too strong. Two teams were forced to fight together, but it has never been about winning. </p><p>It's about survival. </p><p>After weeks of fighting, running and hiding only few mercs are left. While they are running out of time, options and sanity, the threat remains unbroke. And a new enemy approaches - the own mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bird in the Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody will believe me that the initial ambition for this was to create a maybe five pages long crack fic. I'm safe to say I failed at that.

**A Bird in the Hand**

 

“Hast Du Hunger, Archimedes?”

The white dove tilted its head at the sound of the strange words spoken by the familiar voice, fixating the Medic's smiling face with one eye. It blinked at the human, making a soft, almost questioning coo-ing noise.

“I'm sorry, I forgot!” The Medic laughed. “Are you hungry, Archimedes?” he repeated the question in English. The dove raised its head, shaking its white wings. The tiny toes scratched over the documents scattered across the table as the excited animal scurried from left to right.

“Let's see... what could be a nutritious yet delicious meal for my good friend...” He turned the piece of bread he was holding, inspecting it with a skeptical, yet knowing expression. “Hm... I do not know... maybe this contains too much iodine for a tiny bird. And we also have to take your level of cholesterol to considerate...” Archimedes' abrupt cooing came close to a snort, and he flapped abruptly his wings. Smothering a chuckle, Medic broke off a piece of bread.

“Ah, I tease you only a bit. All right, here you go!” He crumbled the dry piece between his fingers and dropped it in front of the dove. After another short flap, the dove bent its neck and picked up a tiny crumb.

“I'm sorry, Archimedes. I wish I had something better to offer.” He sighed and took a bite, chewing slowly as he watched the dove. He heard wings flatter above his head, and a rustling noise from the other end of the room, but none of the other birds joined the dove on the table.

Archimedes stuck out, not only because of the faded stains on its chest that gave its feathers a rusty-brownish color. The flock regarded Archimedes as their leader. It was always him who approached the humans first, and the first to benefit from the Medic's generosity.

“You're a smart bird, Archimedes.” The Medic smiled softly; after selecting only four small crumbs, the bird spread its wings and landed, after a few short flaps, on the human's shoulder. A much smaller dove took Archimedes' place, and hungrily gorged down one of the largest crumbs. Its feathers were ruffled, and a few of the tail feathers snapped.

“You know that not much is left, do you?” He scratched the bird beneath its beak and stood up. “Enjoy your meal, young one. You look like you need it,” he soothed the small dove when it gave a nervous jump at his abrupt motion. “Come, my friend, the day is not over. Work waits for us.” A sad shadow fell over his face as he, together with Archimedes on his his shoulder, left the small room.

 

He listened carefully. From behind the other wall, he heard a familiar grumbling and the clanging of tools hitting metal. He glanced at the the high window to his right– it was still dark outside, and fortunately silent. Determined that it should stay like this, he ignored the light switch and hurried back into the supply room. With a flashlight in his hand he returned.

The small lamp flickered, emitting a weak glow, but it was enough him to step over turned over crates and metallic debris. The heels of his boots echoed through the hall and in his ears, the clicking noise louder in his head than it really was. He still listened closely, as though he expected his steps to be only the beginning of the interruption of the heavy silence wrapping around the old factory building.

Shadows danced around him, distorted from empty shelves and broken machines into abstract monsters, mocking the foolish human with their sharp talons for daring to walk into their realm so brazenly. They only withdrew their talons when the light fell onto a big, round shape resting peacefully on one of three made-shift beds, which were nothing but shoved together boxes covered with blankets and sheets they had found.

“We fought side by side for years, you know,” he explained to the listening bird, putting the flashlight onto a wooden box that functioned as a nightstand. He upset the small collection of items, and a bottle and an empty tin mug fell onto the floor. The Medic stood still, listening tightly. A rustling noise came from the room he had left and settled again when the birds calmed down. The hammer was still bending metal into shape behind a closed door. There was a constant humming coming from a small cold chamber, but otherwise, the world around him was silent.

 

“Don't worry, my friend, I'll clean those things up later.” He exhaled slowly as more tried to calm down himself than the placid dove. “He won't need them anymore. So many battles. And he was brave, as long as it lasted.” He patted the Heavy's cold cheek before he closed the Russian's dull eyes. “In the end, Archimedes, we fight our last battle all alone. Oh well then!” He clapped his hands together and laughed in an attempt of cheerfulness. “On the bright side, we haven't considered cannibalism yet. We are not THAT desperate, no! Yet. Who knows. The next of us might find his grave inside the cold chamber.” He sighed again, and pulled his saw from his belt.

“I know what you're thinking, Archimedes. As if disposing of him in a dumpster bears more dignity. Ah, however! Enough with the dark thoughts!” He tossed away the blanket that covered the Heavy's corpse. With his saw he pointed at the missing legs. The bandage around the stumps ended shortly below the hips, and were soaked with blood, as was the sheet beneath.

“See? At least, _they_ spared me a good bit of work here. Nun denn, alter Freund! An die Arbeit! Ah, I wished I had brought my gramophone! Work is so much more delightful with a pretty tune, don't you agree?” Whistling a waltz, he grabbed Heavy's arm and moved it up until the overstretched, already stiff muscles and tendons crunched. He placed the blade at the shoulder joint. 

The following hours, the steady sound of his saw working through muscles and bones filled the hall, along with his humming, and occasional chuckles when he told Archimedes about their battles, from the time they started working for MannCo, until MannCo stopped to exist.

~ ~

 

“SCOUT! SPY! They're coming! Wha...? Where are... Bloody hell!” Demoman threw himself into the dust. A grenade hit the rock behind him, shattering it to pieces. A sharp piece of stone drilled through his pants and into his left calf. He didn't waste time to inspect the injury; he pulled out the splinter, tossed it away and jumped back onto his feet. If a main artery had been cut he hoped he'd notice rather later than soon.

A second grenade detonated only a few steps away from him. Protecting his eye from the whirl of dust, he broke into a run. His right arm hung uselessly by his side, dangling in the air as he moved. They were still out of sight, but they came closer – heavy feet and unyielding metal joints crushed rocks and scrap under their weight.

“Blimey...” He crouched behind a turned-over car. Dawn was approaching, but it was still too dark to see far. And too cold for a human body to blend into the warmer temperatures of the day. Squinting his eyes he stared at the horizon, giving a sigh of relief. The still very faint pink where the dark sky touched the land promised another sunny day. “Stuff yer heat sensors where the sun _won't_ shine,” he grumbled, wincing, his good hand covering his head when half a dozen grenades detonated not too far away behind him – followed by the sound of scattering metal.

Suddenly, there was silence, and his flinch changed into a triumphant grin. “That's gonna teach ye to step on me weapons!” He counted to three, and when the silence wasn't disturbed again he darted away from his hideout, praying that he'd find his team members before _they_ found him.

For the first time this night luck was on his side. The enemy's forces were still behind him and out of earshot. If they had already passed and surrounded them the game would have been over for good. Heaving and coughing to free his throat from dirt and dust, he stumbled over smashed stones and broken off trees. From the corner of his eye he saw the shape of a body lying on the ground. Crossing his fingers in his mind, he rushed over the corpse, holding his breath when he recognized the blue color of BLU's uniforms.

He knelt down and turned the body over, and smiled grimly. He had never seen this man before, and he didn't wear any class insignia on his uniform – he wasn't one of RED's or BLU's remaining mercenaries he had befriended after the invasion. A small name tag on his shirt read- “Dexter Gordon – Supply Management”. Dexter's face had been smashed by a steely fist. In the dark it wasn't possible to tell for sure if the dried blood was already brown or still of a dark red, but judging from the smell, the dead body had been exposed to the sun at least for a full day.

“Say guid day ta old Jane from me if ye see him up there, aye?” He glanced up at the sky, swallowing hard. After a quick nod at the corpse he continued his search.

 

The turned-over van he discovered behind a nearby cluster of rocks didn't surprise him as much as the fact the driver had managed to escape the attack. Even if only for a few minutes.

It took him some effort to tear the dented door open. The second it gave finally in, disappointment fell over him. He had wasted precious time in hope to find weapons, but the smell of rotten meat and vegetables threatened to turn his stomach; the attack had interrupted the cold chain, and the sun had turned the van into an oven.

 

“Dammit.” Yet, he was lucky; if the attack had happened within the last hours the danger would still be closer. Who knew, the robots would probably have withdrawn completely if they hadn't been careless. He would dwell on that later, if there was a later. The van already out of sight, he took another turn, and finally, he spotted a familiar shape in a blue uniform kneeling in in the dirt – a pose that wouldn't have been possible for a corpse.

“Scout! Lad! Are ye alright?!” During all his time he worked for RED, Demoman had never been so relieved to see a Scout, be it one belonging to BLU or to RED. “Scout? Do you even hear me?” He hurried over to the young man, a bad feeling stirring inside of him when Scout didn't show any sign of acknowledging the Demoman's arrival.

“Damn...” He put his hand on the Scout's shoulder; in front of them lay the motionless body of RED's Spy. His glassy eyes were still half open, his face ashen. Demoman couldn't see any visible wounds, but the Spy's chest looked oddly dented, uncomfortably reminding him of the supply van's door. Blood trickled from his mouth. To the Demo's surprise, he wore an unusual soft smile.

“I'm sorry. But we have ta go, lad. Now!” He shook him gently, but the Scout didn't respond. He only stared at the dead body, his face calm and silent.

“We ain't havin' much time. We gotta go. They'll be here, soon, and if we lead 'em to our base...” Demo pulled a face, putting his good hand on his broken arm. He still didn't hear any treacherous sounds, but sooner or later, they would come. They always did, and the last two times they had found them, the mercenaries had been forced to abandon their shelter, and one or more of good men had lost their lives. The pink at the horizon had become brighter, and would soon turn into a light blue. The warmth wouldn't protect them until noon, and they would be easy to spot even without any heat detecting devices.

 

“It ain't our base.”

“Eh?” He focused again on the Scout. The youth had fallen silent once more, but at least he stood up.

“Can ye really walk?” Demo raised his eyebrows when the Scout limbed next to him, but a shrug was all he received as an answer.

Doubtfully, Demo looked down at the Scout's legs. While he had knelt by the Spy's corpse his injuries had been hidden from the Demo's view; the Scout's left ankle was swollen. He was missing his left shoe, and both socks and pants were soaked with blood around the lower legs. Demo felt his own legs itch when he noticed that the flesh of the Scout's right calf was so torn it looked like a chunk was missing. At every step, the bone bent against the remaining flesh and skin. 

~ ~

 

“Was in Gottes...!” The half-cleaned bonesaw dropped onto the concrete floor with a metallic clang when the door was kicked open. Archimedes, startled by the alarmed outcry, fluttered away, finding refuge in the shadows of the ceiling.

“Was zum... What the hell happened?” Medic forgot about the saw and hurried towards the door when he recognized the huffing intruder and the young man he was carrying on his back.

“Unfortunate incident, doc. Have a look at the lad, will ye? Uh, I take one of the others, aye?” Demoman wrinkled his nose at the sight of the empty, blood-soaked bed. The sheets of the second one hadn't been cleaned in years even before they had found the abandoned building two weeks ago, but at least it didn't smell of blood and death. Carefully, he dropped the Scout.

 

“Who?” Demo nodded at the dismissed bed.

“Heavy,” Medic replied, ostensibly indifferent. He glanced over the shoulder, the shadows hiding the large, black bags leaning against the wall. “So, what do we have here?” Muttering to himself, he inspected Scout's legs. 

“Bloody...!” Demoman kicked against the box holding the torchlight. “Damn. He was a mighty fine lad.” With a grunt, he pulled off his hat and let himself fall on the end of the other bed. “So this is his...?” He pointed at the large stain of blood.

“How did they find ye?”

“The sprain's bad, but will heal. But the other... anyway! They were here last afternoon.” Shoving aside the thought he'd have to employ his bone saw a second time this night, he preferred to answer the Demoman's question. “We didn't expect them. Heavy guarded us, told us to run inside.” 

“So you could hide in time?”

“Ja, wir konnten... I mean, yes, we reached the cold chamber in time. Oh dear, I really wish I still had my Medigun.” He gave the Scout a loop-sided smirk, but the Scout only flinched when the Medic rubbed a cooling balm on his hurting ankle. “Well. We stayed inside the chamber as long as possible. Dell found Heavy outside, still alive. A miracle, considering his condition, but he didn't last long,” he finished with a sigh. “What's with the Soldier and the Spy?”

 “Gone.” Demo frowned.

"I see. So it's only the four of us. Yes, and you and your friends, Archimedes.” He smiled weakly when the dove returned to its favorite spot on his shoulder. “What happened to him? He's so silent? How unusual.” He chuckled.

 “Ain't knowing. Found him like this, and the dead Spy in the dust.”

“So he bit the dust, as they say?” The chuckled turned into a snort of laughter. “Don't look at me like that!” He put off the Demoman's scowl with a wave of his hand.

 “It's not the time for bloody bad jokes!”

“On the contrary, dear Demoman. In times like this we have to grasp any opportunity for a joke. We cannot afford to be picky. Who knows.” His smile faded, and his voice changed into a gloomy growl. “Any laugh might be the last.”

 “Shut ye mouth, doc, and put the kid back together. And have a look at me arm after that!”

“I fear to put you back together I have to take you apart.” He dismissed the Demoman with a snort and turned towards the Scout. “I'm sorry. But you'll survive.” Refraining from any further jokes he quickly explained a calmly listening Scout how he would proceed to amputate the his right leg a few inches below the knee.

 ~ ~

 

 “Here, lad, have one, too.”

“He shouldn't drink. Not on painkillers,” Medic warned when the Scout accepted the bottle of vodka the Demoman offered him.

“Cut us some slack, will ye? We had a hard day, ye know.” He raised the bandaged arm. “Thanks, lad.” He took the bottle back and took a long sip, and another when the Medic reclined the offer.

“Talking 'bout hard day, what's the hardhat up to?” Demo inquired, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He hadn't drunk in weeks, and the few gulps put him in lighter spirits.

His other arm still hurt, but so did every bone in his body. The loss of the Scout's leg was grave, but at least the young man, pale as he was as he rested on his back and stared at the ceiling, would survive. Most of them were dead, which was bad. They had to divide the remaining supplies between the four of them and were safe here for a little while longer, which was – well, not great, not even good, but could have been worse.

 “Ask him yourself. Guten Morgen, Dell,” Medic greeted the Engineer who nodded at them as he walked inside the hall.

 “Goodn More... Morning. That's all of us now?” He let himself fall onto the end of the Scout's bed, looking at the bandaged stump below the Scout's knee. “Or what remains of us, eh? Hurts much, son?”

 

“He ain't speaking. And ye don't tell me ye really trying to learn that monstrosity of a language?”

 “More or less successfully,” Medic added with a sly smirk, but the Engineer laughed.

“Ya both are damn right, it is a monstrosity of a language, and ah'll burn in hell before ahm any good at it. But it keeps a mind busy when your friends drop like flies around you. After being torn to pieces. Tavish, be a buddy and gimme that bottle.”

"He's been trying to repair the radio transmitter. No thanks.” Medic raised his hand when the Engineer offered him the vodka.

“That hit the spot, thanks.” He returned the bottle to Demo, who shared it again with Scout. “Don't bother yarself with mah tinkering. How 'bout you guys? Found anything that'll help us out?”

“Afraid not.” Demoman shook his head with a grim expression, his eye sombre. “Lost Soldier and Spy, and well, even we didn't return in one piece,” he quickly narrated his tale. “Bloody robots. We reached a farm, but it was deserted. Or everyone inside killed, couldn't check with them robots roaming 'round. They noticed us...”

“How?! I warned ya to be careful! Even Jane understood, and Spy's... was... well, sneaking was his damn job!” Engineer pulled down his goggles until they dangled around his throat, his eyes flashing in angry disbelief.

“Aye, and that leaves only me and the lad, me knows, alright?” Demo flared back. “We screwed up big time, yeah, old news! Does it matter how? Better fix that damn radio and get us outta here!”

“Tavish, we lost three great men in less than 24 hours, ah don't think ya can dismiss it like that and...”

“It was my fault.”

 Engineer and Demoman fell silent and turned towards the slim figure still lying motionless on the bed.

 “Scout, are you all right? Demoman, I warned you about giving him alcohol along with the pills!” Alarmed by the faint, slurred voice, Medic rose from the crate that had functioned as a seat and left the small group in search for a bucket. Just in case. Sleeping surrounded by the stench of old blood was inconvenient enough.

“What happened out there, son?” The engineer tried his best to keep his voice friendly and encouraging, but Demo doubted he would have been able to convince a child.

“Tried to find a better spot and climbed a tree. The branch was dry and...” He fought against a sob welling up his throat and fell silent again.

“Leave it at that for now,” Demo cut in when the Engineer opened his mouth. “Come on, Dell, ye know the lad ain't to blame, no more than you last week, when ye and Sniper...”

“Alright, alright, ah got it, less words, more vodka.” The Engineer poured his anger down with the rest of the bottle's content before he spoke on with a – this time genuinely – mellow voice. “In all these years, after all these battles... nothing could have prepared us for that. Nothing. All we can do is survive and...”

“We have to go back!” Scout suddenly cried out, sitting up with a start. “We... uh...” He covered his eyes with his hand, flinching at the pain that shot through his head. Holding his breath, he hoped to stifle the nauseous feeling raising from his guts.

“The shock, the blood loss and a guilty conscience. No wonder he's sick.” Medic hurried by the Scout's side, shoving an empty bucket under his chin right in time.

“And alcohol, of course. What a waste of painkillers.” He shot a reproachful glare at the Demoman while the Scout began to gag, and finally emptied his stomach.

“Why don't ye just make a bad joke about him having his first hangover or something. Ye know, desperate times and all that crap,” Demo snapped back, pulling a face. “Dell, about the radio? Can we contact the civilization before all of us catch the cabin fever?” He turned to the Engineer, pretending he didn't hear the Medic's sharp reply.

“Well, about that...” The Engineer had followed the short quarrel with an amused grin, enjoying the bit of banter he missed so much, and would miss even more now that the Soldier was gone. The smile disappeared at the Demoman's question, but sooner or later he had to answer.

“About that radio...”

“We gotta get back, I promised him!” the Scout croaked. His stomach had calmed, and the Medic helped him to lay down on his back again.

“Who did you promise, boy?” With an old rag, he dabbed the cold sweat from the Scout's forehead and temples before it reached his distressed eyes.

“Him, when he died...”

The three men exchanged a surprised look. They all had had their animosities, with the members of the other team, or even within the own time. Since the invasion their struggle to survive had made them forget about their petty fights. RED's Spy and BLU's Scout being the only exception. The Spy had tried with all his might and all in vain to befriend the stubborn young man, but to the end nothing had changed the hatred and spite Scout had shown whenever the Spy was around.

 

“Son, don't blame yourself.” Engineer cleared his throat, patting the Scout's good leg. “He knew ya were a good kid, and I'm sure wherever he is now he knows ya don't really hate...”

“Go home. Tell your mom I love her!” Scout's outcry broke into a sob. In silence, the three men thought of something to say, and watched as the young man fought to recover his voice.

“ _Live. Go home. Tell your mom I love her._ His last words, and now he's dead. I have to tell her! I have to go home!”

~ ~

 

“Herein!” Medic called when somebody knocked on the door. He had sought refuge in the small supply room again, in hope to have a few minutes to himself. Not that he had expected to remain undisturbed for long.

“Learned at least enough of that darn language to understand 'come in'.” With a wide grin, the Engineer closed the door behind him. He pulled up and unfolded a folding chair and sat down.

“Why don't you take a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

“All set, thanks, pardner,” the Engineer pretended he didn't hear the snarky tone.

“The Scout calmed down?” Without the edge his voice revealed how tired the Medic was.

“Yeah. Doc, your bedside manners leave a lot to be desired! Fleeing the scene like that.” The Engineer pointed his index at the Medic as he scolded him, but Medic caught the twinkle in his friend's eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he smiled back. “I know how to mend bones, or how to remove them when they do more harm than good. I can mend organs, remove them and replace them with the right equipment. I think I can be forgiven that patting heads is not my strong point.”

“Don't sweat it. That's what Tavish and I are there for. The boy's good now.”

“Dell, how long has it been?” Thoughtfully, Medic watched Archimedes. The dove was searching for more crumbs between papers and books, two smaller doves waiting at the edge of the table, their round, dark eyes following each of their leader's movements.

“What? Since we're here?”

“No, since we started fighting together. As friends,” the Medic specified.

“Well.” The Engineer leaned back in his chair, folding his hands above his belly. “We got along darn well since day one, so I'd say... the best of a decade.”

“Ten years, hm?” Medic sighed, pulling a slice of old bread from the pocked of his coat. The sight of food, the prospect of finally more to eat, let the doves forget their reservation. Together, they started to bicker with Archimedes, each trying to snatch away the best bits from the other. “Feels longer.”

“Ain't ya getting all melancholic and nostalgic on me now, pardner,” Engineer warned. “Both of us lost close friends, ya better don't pull us down into a depression of some sorts.”

“Sooner or later I have to ask, and you know it. Dell, when you told Scout the radio is still broken a moment ago.” He turned away from the doves. “That was a lie, wasn't it?”

“Well... damn, that seems to be mah favorite way to start conversations, aren't it?” He gave a small, nervous laugh, but sighed when the Medic's stare seemed to pierce through his eyes, making him consider to simply put on his goggles and leave.

“Yes, it was a lie,” he finally admitted.

“And?”

“No response. From nowhere.”

"It's not my field, but I take it the reach is very limited, maybe only to one receiver?” Medic inquired, but the glimpse of hope faded from his face when the Engineer shook his head.

“It's in a darn good shape, after I replaced a few parts and tweaked them. Johann, all I got was noise. From this factory's headquarters. From our headquarters. Damn, I even reached the closest airport! Noise. The only answer I got was from a police station. The line was open, but all I heard...”

“ _Them?_ ” Medic finished softly for him when the Engineer didn't speak on.

“Yes.”

“I see.” Medic wasn't surprised, he didn't sigh, nor he was scared at the revelation. A moment of silence followed. One of the doves had found a last crumb under one of the sheets of paper, but it couldn't retrieve it without the other two noticing. Paper rustled, and once more, the three birds angrily chirped and pecked at each other for a tiny bit of food.

“So it's not only MannCo territory. Komm her, kleiner Freund.” He reached out for Archimedes. The dove had lost the battle and with it the crumb. Indignantly, the bird shook and fluffed its feathers when it climbed onto the Medic's hand, and from there onto his shoulder.

“Dell, is it the city, or the whole state? Or...”

“From all we know it could be the whole world,” the Engineer sighed, waving a smug dove away that tried to land on his hardhat. “What's so funny?” he demanded when the Medic suddenly chuckled.

“From all we know robots, made by man or alien, might have invaded earth, and we are the only survivors. We're as good as dead. And my first thought was 'how sad, it might depress the Scout that he can't visit his mama.'. As though that was the worst thing to consider.” He broke into a cold laughter that sent a shudder down the Engineer's spine.

“We have to worry about him, that's true.” The Engineer had thought he'd wait until the Medic calmed down, but when the snorts and chuckles died down to an unpleasant giggle, he began to shift on his chair, scratching his head where the hat rubbed against the skin of his scalp.

“Johann. What now? What should we do? What's the plan?”

“I'm sorry, Dell, I'm sorry. Give me a moment! What does a moment matter!” He took off his glasses to wipe the tears away. Then he inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a few seconds.

“I'm fine.” He exhaled, putting on his glasses again, smiling at the Engineer's relieved expression.

“Dell, what options do we have? I understand you didn't have the heart to tell the boy... I mean, the Scout. Is he really in his 20s already? I remember the day he joined us. An obnoxious brat, wet behind the ears. Barely 18 years of arrogance and energy...”

“Like anyone could forget that day! He'd been inside the base for less than two hours and already pissed of Heavy and Demoman. And you!” Now it was the Engineer's time to chuckle. The youth had been a handful – and still was. But nothing beat the first weeks filled with troubles, caused by Scout singlehandedly. He felt tempted to join the Medic on his walk on Nostalgia Lane, but this wasn't the time. Then again, who knew if there would ever be a time for idle chatter like this.

“Yes, and me. Ah, Dell, is this really how we'll end? Most of us are already dead and gone, and it's only a matter of time and we'll be dead and gone as well. The only variable is the 'how'.” The Medic ended their trip to the past himself.

“How? You say it like we have a choice. Like you're really considering to end this nightmare with our own hands. Johann, you aren't serious!”

“Maybe not, but I'm not joking. Dell, my friend. You are a smart man, the smartest of us all.” Medic leaned forward, his elbows drilled in his upper legs, the chin resting on his hands as he thoughtfully stared at his friend. “What if we are the last ones? Why live on? Even if – and that's a big if – we magically stop them. What's next? With us four men? We can't repopulate the human race.”

“Oh, well, that plaid skirt of his does suit Tavish...” Engineer chuckled, but regained his composure when the Medic's lips didn't even twitch.

“So you say even – big if – we don't die by the robots everything will be in vain because the human race is doomed. I understand your point.But Johann, we don't know for sure. It might only be the city or the state.”

“What's your hunch on this?”

“Well.” He shook his head, taking off his hat and placing it on his lap, scratching his scalp again. “Either way. Suicide? Even if – and that's a big if as well – ya can convince me, what about Tavish? And the boy?”

“Tavish would only go if it's because of a good, big detonation, taking as many robots with him as possible.” Medic smiled. “In his way he's a lot like Scout, isn't he? Scout would go out with a bang, as they say, too.”

“Yeah, they'd probably blow up the whole planet or die trying... if the circumstances were different.”

“Ach, dummes Zeug, give him a night or two, and he'll regain his spirits. He has a goal after all!”

“Which he won't reach if ya finish him off,” the Engineer retorted. “And why would ya care about raising his spirits when ya plan to put him to sleep anyway, along with the rest of us? You're contradicting yourself!”

“Dell, it's an option. I didn't say it's my plan. But we have to consider it. Don't think I'm sick of life yet. However, we have to be realistic here.” Gently, he shoved the third dove aside and picked up a few sheets of paper, and gazed over his narrow handwriting. “We can't built traps, we don't have enough material, they are too many, and would probably step around them when they sense our body heat elsewhere!” He held up seven fingers, and counted down, one by one, until only four remained.

“We were seven less then 24 hours ago. With only four of us remaining the supplies last a bit longer, but not much.Maybe four more days. Then we'll run out of water. My medical supplies are limited. Tavish's arm is broken in two places, three of the fingers smashed. I'm not sure if I can save them. And Scout? What about Scout? He can't even walk without a stick in the future, let alone run for his life! Maybe you could build a prosthesis, but he wouldn't be fit to wear one on the stump soon.Don't think I don't like the kid, but he's a liability.

When we have to leave and find a new place to hide, and finally a way out of this damn veldt...”

“Johann! Ya don't suggest we kill him in order to save us!” Engineer jumped to his feet. The chair behind him tumbled over and fell onto the floor.

“Calm down, I'm still going through our options. But Dell, let's be honest. You and I, we aren't fighters, we relied on our equipment, to support. Even with more weapons and ammo at our disposal it would take weeks, if not months to replace Soldier or Pyro, and both of us could never replace Heavy's strengths. Not that it did him any good in the end,” he sighed and began to scratch Archimedes' head, looking at the bird with a sad smile. Engineer already feared he had lost his friend to his own gloomy thoughts when the Medic suddenly spoke again.

“I'm optimistic that Tavish could handle a weapon in a few weeks, even if he loses a finger or two. But Scout? He can't walk, he can't run, he can't jump. He wouldn't last three second in a close combat fight. How will he feel when he realizes how helpless he is now? What will he really think?”

“Do you want to decide for him? Do I have to fear that at some point you'll decide in the name of us all what's best for all of us? Good.” When the Medic shook his head, he picked up the chair, folding it together.

“What do you think, how he'll decide when you tell him the truth?”

Engineer didn't have to ask who his friend meant but he didn't give an answer. He put the chair back against the wall where he had found it. One of the doves glided down from a high shelf and landed on his shoulder.

“Ya stay here with yar friends and that mad scientist.” He held his hand in front of the bird and smiled when the dove made a hesitant step onto his finger. “Here, crazy cat lady, yar baby.” He let the bird step down onto the Medic's free shoulder. “How many of them do ya have by now?”

“You mean do I have still left.” Medic sighed, tickling the small bird under its beak. “With Archimedes and the little one here only six made it.”

“Will ya put them down, too? When the time comes?”

“I have no idea, my friend. Really. I have no idea.”

“In that case-” He gave the Medic a friendly slap against the back of his head. “If ya can't make the decision for dumb animals who don't know what's best for them, don't decide for us humans with a will of our own. And I for my part tell you – ah've never given up a battle, and ah ain't planning to start on giving up battles now! I'll be with those big kids. See ya later, af Weedersen!”

  

Medic waited until the door was closed and he was alone again. He took the dove and Archimedes from his shoulders and placed them onto the table. His lips tightly pressed together, his brows furrowed, he straightened his hair where the Engineer had ruffled it.

“Archimedes, do you think it's too late now to teach you German? Do you think you'd do a better job?” He poked the dove's chest, and the bird nibbled his finger affectionately. Three other doves fluttered down, and gathered around his hand. 

“The last weeks had been hard, the hardest of our lives.” He sighed, and tried to straightened the feathers of one of the birds. It was bald in many spots, and think. It had just learned to fly when the invasion had begun.

“Too fragile since the beginning. How about you, little one?” He inspected the remaining leg of another bird. A bitter smile on his face he remembered how Heavy had mocked him after their escape from the BLU base, that he was wasting time and food on a bird. He had justified his actions by poking his friend's chest with his pointy finger. The dove had lost a leg trying to attack a robot, and it was a miracle it survived, and who had they been to abandon an injured fighter, no matter how small. 

“Brave little thing. Should I name you Scout? Would that be a good omen for him or a bad for you?”

Two more birds settled down in front of them. One was a dove but the other a pigeon 

“When did you join us? Come here,” he cooed softly, and hesitantly, the pigeon stretched its neck, giving his finger a shy peck. A cold smirked appeared on his face and his hand darted forward. His doves fluttered away. Before the pigeon could bit him, he had snapped its neck.

“Filthy thing, mingling with my precious doves! Well, as a breakfast you'll do. Let's see how the others are.”

 

The dead bird in his hand, with Archimedes settling down once more on his shoulder, he left the small room. Another day had begun; rays of sunlight fell through the few high and narrow windows, revealing the sad state factory hall was in. Crates and sheets formed three beds, more sheets covered the floor. On the floor and in each corner, scrap metal, broken boxes and garbage were scattered. The large, black bags with the remains of his friends still rested by the wall close to the exit; soon it should be warm enough outside to be safe, then it was time to hide the slaughtered body outside, before the smell of the rotting corpse would make them sick and insane.

“Later, my friend,” he muttered, greeting the bags with a nod. Neither of the three man had noticed his silent conversation with the bags; they were busy talking with excited voices, chuckling now and then. Scout, albeit still pale, sat upright, with wide and awake eyes, a bright flush on his cheeks as he waved with his hands to stress his words.

 

“Now, gentlemen, what did I miss in these few minutes? Everyone looks so...” He thought of the right word, searching the three faces for the answer. Grim determination was written over all their expressions, and for the moment, the bitterness over lost friends had been reduced to nothing but a shadow. It was still there, in flashing eyes that spoke of revenge, and also in the way Scout carefully avoided to look at his leg, or the Demoman's bandaged arm.

“We got a bloody plan! We ain't defeated yet! Me still has some bombs, and heck, I won't be the best Demoman if me didn't know how to make more!”

“But with his arm broken and the launchers gone we need another way to fire them beauties at our rattling friends,” Engineer threw in. Medic didn't ask, the wide grin told him his friend would reveal the solution any second, and he was right.

“It's as simple as it's effective. With his bat, Scout can hit the grenades and stickies at them from a fair distance.”

“Uh, I'm not an expert on explosives, but won't they detonate at an impact of that force?” Medic doubtfully looked at the Scout's twitching hands.

“Yeah, but old hardhat here's gonna fix that! And then BAMM!” Scout swung an invisible bat, and in pretended shock, Demoman ducked down, as though he had to avoid the blow.

“Could this really work? Can you really invent something like that?” The unshakable hope in his friends' voices was contagious, and Medic started to believe the idea himself for a second.

“As sure as that bird in yar hand's dead.” The Engineer pointed at the limp pigeon. “We've got tons of scrap lying 'round here. We can use the remaining grenades, and whatever gunpowder we can spare. Just have to calculate how thick the hull had to be to absorb the shock of the first impact of the bat.”

“And then,” Scout growled, his eyes turning dark. “I'll show them. I'm gonna blow up every single asshole who stands in my way back home. Every single one of them, and you, if I have to. Gotta go back home, gotta see my ma and I don't give a fuck if ya'll call me a fucking mother's boy again.”

“It's fine, lad, we're going with ye.” Demo's broad hand ruffled through the Scout's hair. “Ain't anywhere else to go at this point, aye? Dell, Medic, are ye in?”

“Of course. Oh, call me Johann, please. I think we've reached a point where titles don't matter anymore. It's not like I can still come running when you call 'Medic'.”

“Thanks, Doc Johann. Tavish, as you know. Hey lad, how 'bout you? Think me never caught your name?”

“Jeremy,” Scout replied, the angry smile softening, and for a short moment, his eyes lit up with his usual, energetic glow. 

“Well then, meine Freunde. Dell, Tavish, Jeremy.” One hand around the dead bird's neck, the other shoved into the pocket of his coat, he looked from one face to the other, and everyone of them straightened once their name was called. His fingertips closed around a small bottle, but only shoved them deeper into the pocket, as determined to forget about it as his friends were about their will to survive.

“We're not only alive but also have a plan! If this doesn't call for a celebration! I'll make us a good breakfast.” He held up the dead pigeon.”I know it is not much, but should do for a nutritious soup.”

“Sounds good.” Engineer raised a skeptical bow while Demo and Scout cheered. “And after that? Considering our _other_ options?”

“Please, Dell. We're professionals. _We_ create our options! Come and help me prepare this thing. And make sure I don't accidentally slip in some pills,” he stiffly chuckled, his voice a whisper only for the Engineer to hear once the shorter man rose and stepped next to him.

“Ya know that ah know you,” Engineer chuckled in return, patting the Medic on his back. “Straighten up, my friend. Things ain't over until they're over. A moment ago we thought all we had for the next days was dry bread, and now? See how quickly luck turns when ya ain't expecting it?”

“That's not the problem,” Medic replied after a short break of silence and once he was sure Scout and Demoman were out of earshot.

“And ah'm aware of that.” The Engineer grabbed him by his arm, his firm grip making the Medic flinch. “Four alive beats everyone in the grave. The survivors count, no matter how few. Let the devil take me if that wasn't what every single one of them thought when they reached the point of no return, wishing they were among those few. And if it were only to see how this will end.”

Tthe Engineer's grip loosened. All of a sudden he pinched the surprised Medic, and confused him with his old optimistic, stubborn grin.

“Ah'll promise ya this, Johann - as long as as ah'm still in my right mind, ah'll have an eye on ya, for your sake, and the sake of all of us. No idea how or when this' gonna end, but hell ah'm gonna try all in mah might to keep us around, and so will _you_. And now stop sulking and let's see what we can brew up from the bird in our hands.”

 

x end x 


End file.
